Ch 88:The Hilt and The First Shard

Arthur continued clearing away layers of dirt and rubble, his fingers twitching as he felt the oppressive aura growing stronger. The malice in the air thickened, pressing against him like a suffocating fog. It was close—he could feel it.

Minutes passed before his magic unearthed a massive black sword hilt. Despite the blade being shattered, the sheer presence of it made his skin crawl.

Arthur hesitated, debating whether he should touch it. The logical part of his mind screamed at him to be cautious, but his curiosity—and confidence in his mental fortitude skill—won out.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out and grasped the hilt with both hands.

The reaction was immediate.

The hilt pulsed, dark energy flaring to life. Arthur's arms tensed as the weapon reacted to his touch, the massive grip shrinking and reshaping itself. Within seconds, it condensed to the size of a normal sword's hilt, fitting perfectly in his grasp.

Arthur let out a low whistle. "Not gonna lie—that was cool as fuck."

Despite all the trauma Sauron had inflicted on him, he couldn't deny the sheer thrill of wielding this thing. The broken weapon hummed with an unnatural energy, its power simmering beneath the surface.

Still, he knew better than to get too comfortable.

Arthur tightened his grip on the hilt, giving it an experimental swing. At first, it felt awkward—wielding just a hilt with no blade—but then he noticed something strange.

Each time he moved it, a faint vibration ran through his hands. At first, he dismissed it as residual energy, but then he realized it wasn't random. The intensity changed depending on the direction he swung.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "So… you're like a dowsing rod for your missing pieces, huh?"

The hilt pulsed in response, almost like it was acknowledging him.

Arthur smirked. "Well, that makes things easier."

---

Arthur tapped his chin, running through a list of potential names in his head. "Shadowfang? No, too edgy. Doomrender? Sounds like a metal band. Abysscleaver? Okay, that one's just trying too hard…"

He sighed. Naming weapons wasn't as easy as it looked.

Then, a thought struck him. This sword wasn't just any blade—it was forged from malice, yet he was wielding it against the very darkness it came from. A weapon of contradiction.

Arthur smirked. "How about Voidbane?"

The hilt pulsed in his hand.

"Yeah. That'll do."

Arthur gripped Voidbane's hilt firmly, feeling the weight of its history and the dark energy still pulsing within it. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"Alright then, Voidbane," he muttered, raising the hilt slightly. "Lead the way to your broken shards."

Almost immediately, the hilt pulsed—faint at first, then stronger, like a heartbeat syncing with his own. Arthur felt a subtle tug in his hand, an unseen force pointing him in a direction.

He smirked. "Guess that means you're listening. Let's go."

---

Arthur traveled through the land, following the hilt's subtle pull. Along the way, he took in the world's beauty, appreciating the rare moment of peace.

As he neared the forest's edge, his steps slowed. There, slumped against a tree, was an elf in chains—bleeding, battered, and barely conscious. Silver hair, now matted with blood, framed a face etched with pain. Deep gashes marred his body, alongside bite marks that hinted at something more savage than mere blades.

Arthur's grip tightened around Voidbane's hilt. No enemies in sight, but the wounds were fresh. Whoever did this might still be close.

Taking a cautious step forward, he spoke evenly. "Hey, you still with me?"

The elf stirred at Arthur's voice, his eyelids fluttering open. His violet eyes, dull with exhaustion, locked onto Arthur with a mixture of wariness and disbelief. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry, and only a raspy breath escaped.

Arthur took another step forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy there. I'm not here to hurt you."

The elf's fingers twitched against the chains, and Arthur could see the raw wounds where the metal had bitten into his skin. Whoever had done this hadn't just restrained him—they had tortured him.

"Who did this to you?" Arthur asked, his voice softer now.

The elf swallowed painfully before managing a whisper. "Orcs… and something worse."

"Stay calm," Arthur said, his voice steady as he knelt beside the wounded elf.

With a flick of his wrist, thin strands of web formed between his fingers, glistening under the dim light. Carefully, he used them to stitch the deeper wounds, ensuring they closed properly. At the same time, he cast a gentle cleansing spell, washing away the blood and preventing infection. His hands moved with practiced precision—his knowledge of medicine and surgery proving invaluable.

Once the worst of the injuries were treated, Arthur snapped the iron chains effortlessly. The elf, still weak, slumped forward, but Arthur caught him, easing him against the tree.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small container of water and some bread. "Here," he said, offering them. "Eat and drink slowly. You're safe now."

As the elf finished eating and drinking, a bit of color returned to his pale face. He took a deep breath, his voice still weak but steady.

"They ambushed me near the river," he began, his silver eyes dark with memory. "Orcs, wargs… creatures I had never seen before. They overwhelmed our patrol—slaughtered my companions. I was the only one they spared." He clenched his fists. "They spoke of taking me to Mordor, to their new master. They said he was searching for something… something powerful."

Arthur's grip on Voidbane tightened. "The shard!"

The elf nodded grimly. "I think so, they were taking about one."

Arthur crouched beside the elf, meeting his gaze. "Listen, I need to get to Mordor as fast as possible. If they get that shard before me, things will get worse. I promise you won't be harmed, and once we're done, I'll escort you back to your people safely."

The elf studied him for a moment before nodding. "From your words, this shard must be an important artifact. Very well, I will help you—but I won't just guide you. I will fight. I must avenge my fallen comrades."

Arthur smirked. "Fair enough. Name's Arthur."

The elf straightened his posture, despite his injuries, and met Arthur's gaze with a sense of regained dignity. "My name is Vaerion," he said, his voice steady but laced with exhaustion.

Arthur nodded. "Vaerion, huh? Alright, let's get moving before those bastards realize they lost their prisoner."

Vaerion took a deep breath and slowly got to his feet, gripping the remnants of his torn cloak. "Agreed. But before we go, tell me—what exactly is this shard we're after? And why is it so important?"

Arthur's expression hardened as he gripped Voidbane's hilt. "The shard is important because the sword it came from is an artifact of unfathomable power—one capable of killing the Valar with ease."

Vaerion's eyes widened, a mix of shock and unease flashing across his face. "You mean… a weapon that could slay even the gods?"

Arthur nodded. "And if the wrong hands get to the shard before I do, this world might not survive the consequences."

Vaerion exhaled sharply. "Then we better not waste any time."

---

The blackened skies of Mordor loomed ahead, the land steeped in a suffocating aura of malice. Towering fortresses lined with jagged spikes and fiery watchtowers ensured no intruder could enter unnoticed. The air itself carried the scent of sulfur, the oppressive heat radiating from Mount Doom making ordinary passage impossible.

Arthur and Vaerion crouched behind the rocky outcrops at the base, their eyes scanning the relentless patrols of orcs and trolls.

"We can't storm the gates," Vaerion muttered. "Too many eyes."

Arthur smirked. "Then we make our own way in."

Before Vaerion could ask what he meant, Arthur dashed forward, slicing through an unsuspecting orc. The battlefield erupted into chaos as the duo clashed against the creatures of darkness, each strike bringing them closer to their goal.

Arthur moved like a phantom through the battlefield, each step precise, each strike lethal. Excalibur cut through orc flesh and troll hide alike, the holy sword humming with restrained power. The creatures barely had time to react before their bodies crumpled to the scorched earth.

Vaerion followed closely behind, using his elven agility to dispatch foes with swift, elegant strikes. The two advanced toward the entrance of Mordor, the fortress looming ahead.

As they neared the gates, Arthur muttered, "Now comes the hard part."

---

The air grew thick with sulfur and heat as Arthur and Vaerion approached the towering volcano. The land beneath them trembled, as if groaning under the weight of the darkness that still lingered. Mordor was a cursed place, its skies forever shrouded in choking ash.

Arthur tightened his grip on Voidbane's hilt, its dark presence pulsing in his hands like a compass leading him forward. The closer they got, the heavier the air became, and the more restless the sword felt. It was as if the shard within Mount Doom was calling to its missing piece.

Vaerion wiped the sweat from his brow, his elven senses clearly unsettled. "This land is tainted beyond reason," he muttered. "Even the earth beneath our feet rejects life."

Arthur nodded. "Then let's not waste time."

As they neared the base of the volcano, the sounds of guttural snarls echoed from the crumbling ruins ahead. Orcs. A lot of them.

Arthur exhaled. "I'll clear the way. Stay close."

Without hesitation, he surged forward, cutting through the first wave of orcs like a phantom in the night. His blade struck with unerring precision, severing limbs and carving through armor as if it were paper. Vaerion followed close behind, using Arthur's openings to land his own deadly strikes.

The deeper they went, the more resistance they met—trolls wielding massive clubs, wargs with bloodstained fangs, and sorcerers cloaked in shadow. But they didn't slow down. They couldn't.

Because somewhere ahead, deep within Mount Doom, lay the next shard of Voidbane.

And they had to get to it before someone else did.

As they pushed further into the depths of Mordor, a lone figure emerged from the shadows of a crumbling watchtower. Cloaked in black armor, his skeletal grin barely visible beneath his ornate helm, the Mouth of Sauron stood blocking their path.

Arthur stopped, tilting his head. "Huh, didn't expect to see you here. Thought you'd be dead."

The dark emissary let out a raspy chuckle. "I do not die so easily, mortal. My master's will lingers in this land, and through him, so do I."

Arthur sighed, rolling his shoulders. "You know, I really don't have time for this. But if you insist—"

Before the Mouth of Sauron could finish drawing his blade, Arthur vanished from sight.

A heartbeat later, he was behind the dark servant.

A single swing of Excalibur.

A flash of steel.

The Mouth of Sauron barely had time to register the pain before his head separated from his body, his decapitated form collapsing in a heap.

Arthur exhaled, shaking his head. "Your master was stronger."

He flicked Voidbane to clean it of blood, then turned back to Vaerion. "Alright, let's move."

Vaerion, who had barely processed how absurdly fast that fight ended, simply nodded. "...Remind me never to challenge you."

Arthur chuckled. "Smart elf."

With the final obstacle removed, they pressed on—toward Mount Doom and the next shard of Voidbane.

Arthur and Vaerion climbed the jagged path leading up Mount Doom, the air thick with heat and the scent of sulfur. The closer they got, the more intense the pull of Voidbane became, guiding Arthur like an unseen force.

Eventually, they reached a sheer wall of volcanic rock. Embedded deep within, glowing faintly like embers in the dark, was the second shard of Voidbane. Cracks of crimson energy pulsed around it, the stone hissing as if resisting its presence.

Arthur exhaled. "Guess it's time to start digging."

Arthur clenched his fist, reinforcing it with magic before driving it into the volcanic rock. The force of his punch sent cracks spiderwebbing across the wall, molten embers flaring from the impact.

With another strike, the stone shattered, revealing the second shard of Voidbane lodged deep within. The moment it was freed, a surge of dark energy pulsed through the air, sending a chill down Arthur's spine.

He grabbed the shard, feeling its ominous power, and muttered, "Two down… five to go."

---Note

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